


Sanctuary

by Reiya_Wakayama



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe – Western, BAMF!Stiles, Boys Being Boys, F/M, Gift Giving, Gun Violence, Hunters, Hurt!Stiles, M/M, Period Violence, Pre-Slash, Werewolves
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-07
Updated: 2013-12-07
Packaged: 2018-01-03 22:25:15
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 4
Words: 17,313
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1073758
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Reiya_Wakayama/pseuds/Reiya_Wakayama
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>New Moon Ranch has been in his family since his father’s great grandparents first settled here in hopes of a new life. It was given to him to look after when his father took up the mantel of Sheriff of Beacon Hills. It is his sanctuary and the sanctuary for others who need it and he will defend it to his last breath.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> So, in this ‘verse Stiles owns a ranch. It’s a place for werewolves passing through to stay without fear of being killed by hunters. He has a truce with Chris Argent that as long as the werewolves are on his land, they are protected, but once off, they are fair game.  
> Much thanks to bumble_bee91 for the awesome beta and helping me in my ongoing war with the dreaded comma. :D Also, thank you terrorinyertub for the awesome art. ([HERE.](http://terrorinyertub.livejournal.com/9459.html))

Part 1

The sun is a hot, yellow disk in the sky that casts little shade on the open grasslands that surround the ranch house. Further to the north, the cool green shade of the woods beckons but at the moment, he must ignore it.

Clucking to his horse to get her moving, Stiles grips the reins in one hand and his shotgun in the other. Sweat beads on his neck where his hat isn’t able to shade him but he ignores it. Following the trail from the house to the main road, he eyes the two figures on horseback that are watching his approach from the other side of his fence.

As he gets closer, he can make out their faces, but he doesn’t know them. So they’re not locals then. They’re not the ones he’s usually dealt with though they know about not crossing his property line.

“Can I help you gentlemen?” he asks. It’s always good to be polite, even if he they are Hunters.

“Our prey stumbled onto your lands? We seek permission to continue after it?” one says. He’s got a tanned and weathered face and hard eyes. He doesn’t even mention the fact that his prey is a werewolf. He probably doesn’t know that Stiles is not ignorant of their kind.

“I’m afraid not. Hunters aren’t allowed on my land,” Stiles says evenly. He splits his attention between the one who spoke and the other with the twitchy trigger finger, the man tapping his finger on the trigger like he just wanted to pull it.

“You don’t even know what we hunt,” the first says, and Stiles names him Calm. Most hunters can’t keep their cool when their hunting.

“Oh, I know. You’re still not welcome on my land. If you want any more information, go talk with Chris Argent and he’ll fill you in nice and easy,” Stiles says with an easy grin.

“They’re monsters!” Twitchy shouts out, face red with his anger. “You’re harboring something evil!”

Calm grabs Twitchy’s arm and shakes his head. “We’ll be back,” Calm says with a scowl sent towards Stiles.

“You do that. And just remember, I’ve got a wicked aim and no qualms about bringing you down,” Stiles says. He sits there and watches them leave, not moving until they’ve disappeared in the distance towards Beacon Hills, the local town. Sighing, Stiles shrugs his tense shoulders, trying to loosen them up.

Clucking to his horse, who deserves a treat for standing still for so long, he turns her back in the direction of the house. He can see one of the girls waving at him from the front porch. Kneeing his horse to get her to trot faster, he heads back the way he came.

Stiles pulls up a few feet from the front steps. Lydia is dressed practically today with pants tucked into boots and a blouse hugging her torso. Her long, strawberry blonde hair is pulled back into a braid. Her green eyes watch him as she wipes her hands on a rag.

“What is it, Firetop?” he asks, using his nickname for her.

Lydia huffs, but he can see the way her lips quirk at the name. “Your houseguest is putting up a racket. You might want to go check on him,” she says, hinting that the werewolf currently hiding out in his barn might be a bit more unstable than he thought.

“Can do. Has Deaton been sent for?” he asks her.

“I sent Scott out on Firefly. He should have reached him by now. I’ll send him your way when he gets here,” she says. She flicks the rag at him and heads back inside to finish with whatever it was she was working on.

Sighing, Stiles gets his horse moving again. Guiding her around the house, he heads for the trees and hopeful shade. He has two barns. The larger of the two is for storing anything that needs storing: feed, food stores, gear. It’s connected to the stables where he keeps his horses.

The second is a smaller affair. He keeps it in the woods, out of sight. He stores most of his wood there, the stuff he sells to the carpenters in the surrounding towns. It’s also where he keeps out of control werewolves until they can get a hold of their wilder sides and turn back into their human selves.

The green shade of the trees is a relief from the harsh sun. Sighing softly, Stiles pats the horse’s neck as they walk along a well-worn track. The barn comes into view and he can hear what Lydia was talking about. There are growls and soft roars coming from inside.

Grunting, Stiles dismounts and ties the horse to a nearby shady tree a bit away from the barn. No need to tempt the wolf. Walking to the main doors, he slips in quietly, letting his eyes adjust as he listens to the werewolf roll around on the ground, pinned in by the mountain ash line he had put up when the werewolf had been brought in.

They’d heard gun fire off in the distance yesterday, but it wasn’t until the wolf landed on his porch, out cold, sometime last night that he had connected the dots. He’d had Scott and Boyd carry the wolf to the barn and told Lydia and Erica to help remove any sign that the wolf had come their way.

The wolf has stopped thrashing against the barrier and has amber eyes trained on him where he is leaned up against the barn door. “Oh good, you’ve stopped. Now I have a few ground rules, and I expect them to be followed if you plan to stay here for longer,” Stiles says pushing off the doors and walking closer.

“First rule, none of this wolfing out. I expect you to be human and civil. Two, you will help out with whatever needs to be helped out with. And three, no attacking anyone. If you can’t follow these rules, then I’ll let you out of this circle and escort you off my property myself to face those hunters so keen on tanning your hide. Now, do you think you can be a civil human being or are things going to get hairy?” Stiles asks.

The wolf has remained completely still as Stiles talked, head cocked to the side slightly as he listened to the human’s words. Their staring match drags on for a few more seconds before the wolf lets out its version of a sigh. Slowly, it shifts back to human, bones snapping and shifting, fur receding. What is left before him is a young man, maybe in his early twenties with curly blonde hair and piercing blue eyes that watch Stiles warily.

“Do we have an agreement?” Stiles asks.

“Yes,” the man says, his voice rough after so long as a wolf.

“Good,” Stiles says and claps his hands. Turning, he pulls a blanket from a small cubby hole he keeps them in for just such an occasion. “Unfortunately, there are no clothes here. I’ll find something for you back at the house. What should we call you?” Stiles asks, tossing the blanket at the naked man in the mountain ash circle.

“I’m Isaac,” Isaac says, wrapping the blanket around himself.

“I’m Stiles. Welcome to New Moon Ranch,” Stiles says and breaks the circle with a wave of his hand.

~*~

His ranch hadn’t always been like this, a safe haven for werewolves. Before his mother had died, it had been just them and the few ranch hands working the land. His father bred horses and raised cattle. But then, his mother had caught Tuberculosis and the sickness had slowly destroyed her lungs. She’d died when Stiles was eleven.

His father hadn’t been the same. He went on a drinking fit soon after. He would be gone all day, sometimes even longer at the saloon. If it hadn’t been for the ranch hands that had been so loyal to his father, they would have lost the ranch.

But between them and Stiles helping out, they kept it running long enough for his father to pull himself together. Stiles had grown up fast after that and two years after his mother’s death, he had taken primary control of the ranch from his father whose mind just wasn’t in it anymore.

Stiles was fourteen when his father came home one day with a shiny new star on his chest and with the news that he’d taken the job as Sheriff for Beacon Hills. Stiles had been scared mute for his father after recalling that the old Sheriff had been killed by bandits passing through the area.

It had taken a promise from his father, and a trip to the town to meet with his deputies, before Stiles was convinced that his father would be marginally okay. And with the knowledge that his father would visit once a day, no matter what was happening or going on, he went home with a lighter heart.

Stiles threw himself into the ranch, working long days and learning all he could from the ranch hands on how to properly run said ranch. He was sixteen when he first stumbled upon a werewolf. At first, he had thought it was just a wolf that had been shot by hunters.

He’d taken it to the small wooden lean-to they stored extra wood in and kept it there. He’d gone and gotten Deaton, the local vet, saying he’d found a wounded animal. They had gotten to the little shack, but where a wolf had lain, a human was in its place, rope still tied around his neck.

Deaton had treated the man and explained to Stiles what exactly he had stumbled into. The man had woken up soon after and nearly ripped their faces off before they could explain to him that they were the reason he was still alive.

He had thanked them and taken off later that night with some of his father’s old clothing and a belly full of food. Soon after that, Deaton made a habit of visiting once a week to teach Stiles ways to protect himself against the supernatural.

It was going on to nearly five years since he had stumbled into the Supernatural. He’d picked up Scott a few months after the first werewolf. He’d apparently been on his way west for a job when the coach he had been traveling in had been attacked and he had been bitten.

He’d been forced to make a run for it when a pair of hunters had gotten wind of the attack and went after him. Lydia was the local, completely human, beauty queen who had gotten tired of hiding her true self and being forced to do what her parents wanted. She’d asked Stiles to work on his ranch. He’d nearly doubled his profit through her skills for math and business.

Erica and Boyd had been sweet hearts, forced to hide their feelings because interracial marriage is still against the law. They had hopped a train west hoping to find a place more accepting of their love as well as to get away from the hunters on their tail. The fact that they’re mated werewolves makes them even bigger game for some of the hunters. Stiles had taken them in for the night and they hadn’t left.

Jackson is Lydia’s supposed beau and the local lawyer’s son. The man does everything in his powers to stay in Lydia’s good graces by helping her out as she works on Stiles’ ranch. Stiles still isn’t sure if they’ll ever marry with the way they’re constantly fighting and going at each other’s throats. Stiles used to think he was in love with her. Now he’s just glad he didn’t fall into that death trap. Jackson can have her all he wants; Stiles will stick to being her friend.

And then there’s Allison, the sometimes resident, the apple of Scott’s eye and the local werewolf hunter’s daughter. He still isn’t sure how she got her father to agree with the truce Stiles suggested, but he wouldn’t have been able to without Allison and Deaton on his side. Of course, it may have helped that after Allison’s mother had died, Chris had stopped actively hunting werewolves.

He’s still surprised his father hasn’t strangled him yet after finding out about the whole werewolf problem. Stiles had tried to hide it at first, but with three werewolves living with you and one who only has partial control when he gets emotional; it’s hard to hide it. Scott had looked apologetic for spilling the beans, and Stiles forgave his friend, but it had been touch and go there for a couple of days between him and his father.

But things worked out. The ranch is doing well. Except for the part where word somehow got around about him harboring werewolves because hunters keep showing up looking for easy prey. For the most part, they are easily handled. But Stiles dreads the day when the truce will no longer stand and he’ll have to defend the ones he loves.

~*~

“I’m going to miss this place,” Laura whispers as the house that they were raised in slowly burns to the ground. They had taken out everything they needed and anything they couldn’t part with. The rest had been sold off and the money compiled to be used later to start over.

Their parents had left already, taking their younger siblings with them. Peter had left as well with his wife and son. The pack was splitting up for a while, hoping to throw the hunters off their trails long enough so that they could disappear into the wilderness of the west and start over.

Laura and Derek are old enough now to be on their own. At twenty five, the twin alphas can handle themselves should something happen. They are the last ones to leave the land they grew up on.

“Come on, baby brother, let’s get going before the hunters come to investigate,” Laura says, mounting her horse with ease.

“You’re only older by a few minutes, no need to use the baby brother line,” Derek hisses at her, but mounts as well. Looking back once at the burning remains of his childhood home, Derek follows Laura through the trees and away.

~*~

“Isaac, have you seen my…,” Stiles starts to call out as he walks into the main room to see the werewolf there holding his work gloves out for him. Stiles grins sheepishly at the man. “Thanks. Tell Scott to meet me at the western fence when he gets back from Deaton’s. He can help me fix the fence there. The cattle keep knocking it over.”

Isaac just grins at him and nods before going back to his leather working. The man certainly has come in use over the last couple of months when it comes to repairing anything, especially the horse’s gear. Nodding one last time, Stiles tugs the gloves on and heads out to the early morning.

The sun is just peaking over the trees by the time he gets to the fence. Pulling his horse and the wagon to a stop, he gets out. He can see where a couple cattle had gotten spooked by something and stamped through the wooden fence. At least two sections need to be replaced and he can see more areas that just need a board or two traded out for a new board.

Sighing, Stiles rolls his shoulders and gets to work pulling wood off the back of the wagon. It’s nearing noon when he hears the first shot in the distance, so far away it just sounds like a pop. Frowning, Stiles unbends himself from where he was bent over hammering to listen hard to see if more follow.

Everything is quiet except for the breeze and the occasional bird. Frowning slightly, Stiles shrugs. If it’s hunters after something, it’s too far away for him to do anything, unless they come this way. And they will come here. Werewolves tend to have a sixth sense when it comes to their kind and can sense when others are in the area.

Shrugging, Stiles heads over to the wagon to grab a few more nails and his shotgun and then continues fixing the fence, the comforting presence of the gun easing the tension in his shoulders. If Scott doesn’t get here soon to help, Stiles will finish this all up and he’ll force the werewolf to clean the horses’ stalls as punishment. Grinning at the thought, he continues to hammer away.

~*~

They travel for a day, trying to put as much distance between them and their house, traveling on the busiest roads to cover up their tracks with others. Eventually though, they have to stop, horses unable to continue on in the dark, their mounts spooking at every rustle and snap of the foliage around them.

They’re headed for California, where they might make a living and start over. Word had come over a year ago from a passing wolf about a ranch out there that protected werewolves. They had decided that that would be a good place to meet up.

Derek wonders what the ranch is like, what the person who runs it must be like if he is willingly going against hunters to protect his kind. Laura, for her part has been quiet the whole day’s ride. “Hey, what’s up?” Derek asks softly, sitting down beside her by the fire they had built, nudging her shoulder.

His sister has always been the loud one. Has always been the brash talker with a sharp tongue and a sharper wit. It’s unusual for her to be so quiet, for her to not be ribbing him about something or other. Quiet usually means she’s thinking and not often good thoughts.

“It’s…nothing. I’m just mad. Why should we be forced to give up our home just because of someone else?” she asks, glaring at the fire, eyes red from both the light and the stirring of the Alpha in her at her anger. “That was our home, Derek and if we hadn’t torched it, they would have done it themselves, with all of us in it.”

“I know,” he says quietly, pressing against her side, seeking comfort and offering support to his twin. Sighing loudly, she slings and arm around his shoulders and tucks her head in his shoulder breathing in his familiar scent. They spend the rest of the night like that, alert, awake, but unmoving, as they comforted each other.

~*~

They travel for over a week before they stumble onto a small town nestled into a wide valley. They wouldn’t have noticed it if they had been human, but the scent of wood smoke and humanity is hard to cover up to a werewolf’s nose.

There are a few smaller buildings clustered together around a communal well on one side. A larger building across from them hangs an “Inn” sign that sways in the breeze. They can spot people from a distance going about their work. Further in the distance, they can see furrowed fields and an orchard, summer slowly ripening their crops.

The town may look idyllic, but they’re still on their guard as they ride closer. No one eyes them with anything except curiosity, strangers rare so far west. The inn is only two stories with a small stable on the side. They dismount in front of it, a boy coming running out of the door.

“I can see to your horses,” he says with a head bob.

“That’s all right. We’re only passing through. Just stopping in for a good meal before we carry on,” Laura says with a smile, but still passes a small copper coin to the boy for his trouble. He grins and runs back in to inform the owner about their business.

Tying their mounts to the post, Derek quickly fills the metal tub with water from the pump. He leaves them drinking heartily and follows his sister inside where she has already been shown to a table with a pitcher of water and two mugs waiting.

She grins and waves him over. “I ordered stew for us,” she informs him as he settles in the chair across from her. The dining area is clean and airy, the lace curtains at the windows fluttering in the soft breeze that comes into the valley.

A woman appears shortly with a platter laden with two steaming bowls and a basket of rolls. “I hope this is up to your standers. We don’t get many strangers in these parts,” she says, setting the platter down and unloading their meal.

“Oh, hush, this is just perfect. We’re not so well off that we would waste a perfectly good meal,” Laura says with a grin at the serving woman. “So how’s the west treating this little town?” she asks, wrangling for some gossip.

“Oh, it’s just lovely in this valley. We get plenty of rain when we need it and there’s not much to worry about when it comes to bandits or anything. Most people don’t even realize we’re here unless they’re shown the way,” she says with a smile and a laugh.

“We were lucky to stumble on this place as well. I was getting tired of trail rations. Neither me nor my brother can cook very well, so it’s been mostly dried meat and cheese for us,” Laura says and the woman laughs again.

“Janice, come on girl, leave them to their meal,” the owner calls, standing by the door to the kitchen. She grins again, nodding to the two siblings and walks off, taking her platter with her.

They eat in silence. The stew is good, full of vegetables and tender meat. The bread is soft and breaks apart easily. Derek’s just sopping up the last of his stew with one of his rolls when he glances up at Laura, asking her, “Are we staying the night?”

She sighs and looks wistfully at the stairs that led up to the rooms on the second floor. “I want to, but we can’t stay here. If we’re attacked, I’d rather be out in the open forest then stuck in a building with only a few ways to escape.”

“Okay,” Derek says and doesn’t question her anymore. They finish their meal in silence and together, they stand, taking their dishes to the small counter set to the side of the kitchen door.

“You’re leaving already?” the owner asks, the man’s voice gruff but kind.

“Unfortunately. We’ve still got a ways to travel and don’t want to get off track,” Laura says with a grin. She pays for their meal quickly, thanking the man for his hospitality and wishing them the best fortune when it comes to their harvest.

They’re out the door and nearly a mile away in what seems like no time, the small town disappearing from sight as well as smell. “It looks like it might rain soon,” Laura mentions, motioning to the dark clouds building ahead of them. “That’ll be good. It’ll wash any trail we’ve left.”

Derek nods and they continue riding. Deciding that it would be prudent to stop early and set up camp before the rain hits, they find a small place where the tree limbs are interwoven overhead, acting as a sort of shelter. They’ll still get wet, but at least they won’t be caught in the deluge of it.

Getting as much dry firewood as they can, it is quick work getting the fire going. Laura pulls out their trail rations. Laura had been right; neither of them can cook well and try to avoid it at all costs. Munching on dried venison, Derek keeps watch as Laura sleeps.

The storm has just broken, lightning flashing overhead and thunder rumbling across the land when Derek sees something. He’s not sure what it is, but it had been illuminated in the last flash of lightning, standing out against the dark of the surround trees. Frowning, he reaches over and shakes Laura’s leg, rousing his sister. “What?” she asks.

“Shh,” Derek says, holding a finger up to his lips. He can’t hear anything over the sound of the rain and he can’t smell anything, but the smoke from the fire that is slowly being put out by the rain.

Laura scoots closer, leaning into him. “What is it?” she asks softly into his ear. Derek doubts anyone could have heard them speaking at full volume in this storm, but it is better to be cautious. He squints, trying to catch another glimpse through the pouring rain falling down around them and soaking him to the bone.

“I’m not sure. I thought I saw something. Maybe we should keep going. We’re sitting ducks out here,” he whispers softly.

“All right, I’ll get the horses ready, you keep watch and put the fire out,” Laura says, not even questioning his words. The horses are skittish as she saddles them, the storm spooking them enough that the whites of their eyes are showing even in the dark.

She has just finished saddling both horses and climbed up on her mount when the first bolt sticks into the tree near her head. “Derek!” she yells, trying to be heard over the storm.

“Take the horses and go. I’ll lead them away,” Derek yells, yanking off his clothing as he runs away from the hunters and his sister, not even looking to see if she listened to his words. Laura gives a yell of anger and rage and knees her horse, grabbing Derek’s by the reins and running them through the trees.

It’s hard steering two frightened horse who are blind in the dark through the forest, but she does it, her night vision the only thing that saves her and the horses from being thrown, breaking a leg or running into a tree. The hunters are slower, can’t see in the dark and their horses are just as frightened as hers.

She makes it to a road of sorts, most likely cut by the locals to make getting through the woods easier. Kneeing her mount again, giving them their head, she lets them run, leaving the hunters long behind. She’s miles away, the horses slowed to a walk, heads drooping as they walk. The storm has blown itself out and it’s quiet.

She pulls her mounts to a stop, letting them rest, dismounting and staring back the way she had come. In the distance, a wolf howls in anguish. “Derek!” Laura yells out, crying at the pain in her brother’s voice. “Derek,” she says again, softer. Falling to her knees, she cries in the road.

~*~

As the last piece of clothing falls away, he’s free to change. The tingle of his shift races down his spine, spreading to his limbs and heads. The trees race passed him and he can hear the hunters chasing him. A fallen tree bars his way and he leaps on top of it, using it as a spring board to propel himself forward, coming down in his wolf form.

He hears the hunters cursing behind him, stopped by their horses rearing in fright as they see the tree. He’s slowly putting space between him and the hunters when a searing pain erupts in his flank, burying deep into the muscle.

He can’t stop the howl that rips from his throat, crying out for help that is too far away. Struggling up from where he collapsed to the wet leaves, Derek pushes himself further, even as he feels the burn of what is most definitely silver poisoning his veins.

Wheezing, Derek continues west. Laura will be headed that way, and he needs to get to the place they had planned to meet, and then he’ll be fine. Limping, Derek continues forward, feeling every step he takes.

~*~

He’s not sure how long he’s been traveling, a few days, a few weeks. It’s all blurred into one long span of time where all he knows is the burning heat of the fever wracking his body and the need to go west, always west.

Panting, Derek stops by a stream that he only knows is there because it feels good on his heated skin where he steps into it. Lapping half-heartedly at the water, he continues forward through the water and through the trees.

He’s just crested a hill when the sound of a shot rings behind him. He jerks up and away but his reaction time is slowed by the fever and the silver bullet grazes his side. Whining, Derek takes off in a limping run, away from those that would hurt him.

Running through the trees, a wooden obstacle blocks his path and gathering what little energy he has left, he bounds over the thing, landing heavily on the other side with a huff and a stagger as his back leg buckles under him.

Glancing up at a noise, he sees someone standing there, staring at him, eyes wide. Derek growls menacingly, bearing his teeth in a snarl. He starts to back away, but another shot rings out in the air, striking the wooden thing behind him.

Whimpering, Derek takes off again. He sees another wooden thing and ducks under it, trying to hide from those who hunt him. He shakes with fear and fever. He can hear the approach of the hunters, their swearing and cursing as they stop at the wooden thing.

More words are said from one of them and then they leave, walking back into the forest. Nothing moves for a few heart beats and then the person from before starts to head his way. The man stops a few feet from the wooden thing he is hiding under.

He crouches and he finally gets a good look at the person. The only thing that his fever befuddled mind can really process is the color of his eyes, like amber caught in sunlight. He starts to reach a hand towards him and Derek freaks, snapping fearfully at the hand. The man sighs softly, “This is going to require some patience and help.”


	2. Chapter 2

Part 2

When Stiles had heard that first shot, he had not been expecting to see a werewolf bounding over his fence, especially one in as rough shape as this one appeared to be. He’s frozen as the thing notices his presence and growls, showing large white fangs.

Another shot ringing out has him jumping and the werewolf jerking away from him and the fence and making a break for his wagon. His horse is well trained and doesn’t shy away at the approach of a predator, though she does lay her ears back and keeps a wary eye on the wolf.

Turning back, Stiles reaches down for his shot gun just as two men come running up to his fence. The same two from when Isaac had first arrived here at the ranch. Twitchy is still twitchy and swearing up a storm as he sees Stiles standing there with his shotgun raised and aimed straight at them. Calm just grunts and grabs his partner’s arms, pulling him away.

“Damn it, that one was ours,” Twitchy yells.

“Over the property line, in sanctuary,” is all Calm says.

Stiles watches them warily as they fade back into the forest. He waits until he’s sure they’re gone before setting his gun down and slowly walking up to the wagon. The wolf is still where he hid, shaking. His black fur is matted with dirt and birrs and Stiles can see blood seeping in a shallow graze on his side.

Gulping, Stiles starts to reach his hand out and isn’t really surprised when the werewolf snaps at him in warning. He sighs softly. “This is going to require some patience and help,” he says softly.

~*~

It’s quick work to lay a mountain ash line around the wagon and then another barrier to keep the hunters out just in case they decide to come back. He’s glad he didn’t have his horse hitched up to the wagon still. The less he stresses this wolf, the better. Mounting, he urges her hard, needing to be quick about this.

A few minutes later, he pulls up at the house, calling out for whoever is home. Isaac is the first one out. “Is Scott still at Deaton’s?” Stiles asks. Isaac nods. “All right, send someone to him about a wounded werewolf on my property. Then saddle up and come with me. I’m gonna need you help coaxing him out of his hiding place so we can get him back to the house.

Isaac nods and runs back in. Stiles can hear him talking with one of the girls. He’s back out with Erica, the werewolf nodding to Stiles and making her way towards the stables to grab a horse. “It’ll be easier to run,” Isaac says.

Just nodding, Stiles turns his horse around and leads the way back to where he left the wolf in the circle. In all, it only took maybe fifteen minutes, but it seems like an eternity later before they get back to the wagon.

The wolf is where he left him and is doesn’t seem the hunters came back to try and get him while Stiles was away. He and Isaac stop a little away and watch the wolf for a moment, but he seems to be focused on breathing.

“Stiles, he doesn’t look good,” Isaac says softly.

“That’s why I sent for Deaton,” Stiles says and steps forward. He crouches down and breaks both barriers. Except he isn’t expecting the wolf to lunge and scrambles back as fangs crunch down on flesh, Isaac’s arm keeping the wolf from ripping his throat out.

Isaac keeps a calm voice through the pain as he speaks softly to the wolf, adding croons and whines, talking in some way that this half feral wolf understands. Seconds later, his jaws release Isaac’s arm and he slumps to the ground, panting heavily.

“Stiles,” Isaac whispers and points to the wolf’s flank where blood oozes out black and red, the yellow of puss seeping out with it. “That is definitely not good.”

“We need to get him in the wagon. Will he trust you enough to lift him or if not, can he jump?” Stiles asks, grabbing his horse to go hitch her to the wagon now empty of boards.

Isaac bends down and starts whispering to the wolf and it struggles to its feet, the back leg not supporting his weight. The wolf is big, taller than the floor of the wagon and can easily reach up to get in, but he can’t go all the way. His back leg just won’t let him up.

Isaac whispers softly, and reaching under the wolf, lifts him up the rest of the way. The wolf snaps and growls, but he doesn’t try to stop Isaac. Isaac looks up and Stiles can see his eyes shining gold, his wolf showing through as he comforts the werewolf.

Climbing into the back of the wagon, Isaac sits by his head, running his fingers through the wolf’s matted fur, soothing him. Isaac nods and Stiles mounts up. It takes a minute to get the wagon turned around, but he gets it there and tries to find the smoothest route back to the house. Even then, every bump has the wolf growling, but he doesn’t move from where he is laying in the wagon.

The house is quiet when they finally arrive. It took longer to reach than before because Stiles kept the pace slow. “Help him down and lead him to the safety room. I’ll get supplies for Deaton to use when he arrives,” Stiles says, jumping down from the wagon.

He doesn’t stay to see how Isaac gets the werewolf down. Hurrying into the house, he runs for the linen closet where they keep a stash of clean bandages and other herbal remedies on hand for cases like this. Filling a handy basket, he lugs it down the hall to the fortified room.

It has a line of mountain ash the follows the edge of the room and when the door is closed, will keep the wolf inside and from harming anyone if he starts attacking. Setting the basket down on a table, Stiles runs back and pulls out a few old blankets to give the werewolf something soft to rest on.

He comes up on Isaac showing the limping wolf into the room and slows down so not to startle the wolf. Throwing the blankets down to the side, Stiles steps back and lets Isaac handle things from there. Once the wolf is settled, he steps back.

“How’s your arm?” Stiles asks, looking at where the wound is still bleeding sluggishly.

“It’ll be fine in a few days,” Isaac says softly.

“But it normally heals in a few hours,” Stiles says eyeing his friend.

“Normally, but this one’s an Alpha. Alpha inflicted wounds take longer to heal,” Isaac reminds him. Isaac frowns, turning to face the direction of the front of the house. “Scott and Deaton are here and Erica’s behind them,” he says softly.

“I’ll keep an eye on him, you go tell them everything you can so Deaton knows what to do,” Stiles says and crouches by the door. The wolf doesn’t look up at him, just lying on the blankets panting heavily. Nor does he stir when more footsteps sound behind Stiles as the veterinarian and sometimes werewolf healer arrives.

“You seem to be a magnet for trouble, Stiles,” Deaton comments as he steps confidently over the threshold of the doorway and into the room. The wolf opens one wary red eye that follows Deaton as he circles from a distance, seeing all the damage for himself.

“Hmm, a bit serious, this one. Everything should have healed, except that the bullet wound in his back flank is infected and still bleeding. I suspect a silver bullet. Silver can’t really hurt them, but it keeps their healing ability from kicking in if in constant exposure,” Deaton says, looking at Stiles. “I’m going to have to remove the bullet and flush the wound of any silver partials that might still be in there. Stiles stay back. Isaac, Erica, Scott, I’m going to need your help here.”

The three wolves step into the room and crouch where Deaton tells them to, hands grabbing his head, shoulders and torso to keep him still. Deaton sets his small satchel on the table next to Stiles’ basket and pulls out a long pair of grippers.

“Ready?” he asks the three and they nod, frowning in concentration, eyes glowing gold. Isaac is still whispering to the wolf, keeping him calm.

Placing a gentle hand on the weakened leg to keep it still, Deaton presses the device into the wound. The wolf lets out a howl of pain, struggling against the three holding him. For a second, it looks like he might gain the upper hand, Isaac and Erica losing their grip for a second as Scott struggles to compensate.

But the two get their hold back and Deaton continues on grimly. The wolf stops struggling as the burst of energy his pain had given him fades away. It takes a breathless moment but then Deaton makes an “aha!” face and starts to pull his hand back.

The instrument is coated in red and black, but in its thin metal jaws is a lump of metal that shines silver under all the blood. Deaton sets the bullet aside and reaches for one of the jars in Stiles’ basket. It holds a pale yellow fluid that glints softly in the little light that comes into the room.

Unscrewing the lid, he gently poured the liquid into the open wound, washing and cleansing the wound. The wolf thrashes, whining and whimpering in pain. Smoke wafted up from the wound, burning away infection, and any silver that might be lingering. He quickly cleans the graze on his side as well as a precaution.

Finally, the wolf lies still, breathing heavily and quivering. “There, he should be all right. He’ll need to rest and eat, but he should heal on his own. Just let him sleep and put some food out for him.”

Grabbing a rag, Deaton wipes his hands down. Grabbing his instrument, he steps away from the wolf and heads out of the room to the kitchen where he can properly clean his tools. Stiles follows the doctor with his eyes and then looks back at the three in the room. “He’s asleep,” Isaac whispers, stepping away as well.

“Good,” Stiles says, motioning for the three to step out of the room. He gently shuts the door on the sleeping Alpha werewolf. He turns to Erica, “Can you get something put together for him?” She nods and Stiles leaves her to go talk with Deaton.

He finds the doctor talking with Scott as he finishes washing his instrument. Scott nods to the vet and walks out the door with the medicine he had gone to Deaton’s for. One of the horses has an infected hoof and can’t walk at the moment. Stiles is hoping that he won’t have to put the poor animal down, but if he can’t fix the hoof, the horse won’t be able to walk, and would become a financial burden he can’t afford right now.

With Scott gone, he walks up to the vet. “Is there anything I should be expecting when he wakes up?” Stiles asks as the vet packs his satchel.

“It would probably be best to send one of the betas in when he wakes up. He might react violently and while they can heal, you would not. There might be some disorientation and amnesia due to the fever. Try to keep him calm and explain what you can. Once he is stable enough to keep control, he can be let out of the room,” Deaton says with an easy calm of someone who did this sort of thing every day.

“All right, thanks again for your help. I’ll have Scott keep you updated on our horse. Hopefully, she’ll pull through,” Stiles says with a shake of the vet’s hand.

“Take care Stiles and good luck,” Deaton says and leaves with a nod. Sighing, Stiles rubs a hand over his face and head back outside to unhitch his horse and put her and the wagon up for the day.

~*~

The sun has set and the darkness outside hides the ranch from his view as he looks outside. The moon has yet to rise, only half full at the moment, which is a good thing with the Alpha werewolf currently taking up residence in his safe room.

Deciding that now would be a good time to check on his guest, Stiles walks lightly down the hall. The others have already gone to bed since they need to rise early in the morning. Stiles himself can’t sleep. He gets like this sometime, his insomnia getting a hold of his mind and making it run nonstop until he finally stops from exhaustion to sleep.

The candle flickers as he stops in front of the solid mountain ash door. Putting the candle in the bracket just outside of the door, Stiles slowly opens the door. Inside, it is pitch black, no windows letting in any meager light from the stars.

He can’t see anything, eyes still adjusting to the dark. But he can hear the sound of breathing. He startles as a red eye appears in the dark, staring at him. Deciding to leave the wolf alone, Stiles closes the door again and heads for his room where a book awaits him. He’s got a long night of reading before he will be able to sleep with an exhausted mind and body.

~*~

Dawn arrives with crowing roosters and the sound of the others shuffling about in the house, getting ready for the long day ahead. Stiles lays in bed for a few minutes more, glaring up at the ceiling. He’d only gone to sleep a few hours ago and he could still feel the tiredness dragging him down into the soft mattress.

“Stiles, get your lazy self out of bed,” Lydia yells through the door. Groaning, Stiles pulls the covers off and rolls out of bed, hissing as his feet hit cool wooden floors. He hops around for a second before he gets used to the temperature and then shuffles over to the porcelain basin full of water.

A quick once over with a wet cloth cleans away any night sweat and then he stuffs himself into his clothing, groaning as he stretches his muscles with a wide yawn. Stuffing his stocking covered feet into his boots, Stiles leaves his room to head for the kitchen.

He stops short in the doorway, staring at the hulking man at his dining table. He is muscled and broad shouldered, with a chiseled jaw line and stubble just starting to appear on his face. Stiles is about to ask Erica if this is another man she’s brought home when the guy looks up and his eyes flash red, a growl leaving his throat at the sudden appearance of Stiles in the kitchen.

“Wow, nice Alpha, no need to attack the human,” Stiles says, holding up his hands to show he’s not here to harm him.

“Good, you’re up. Stiles this here is Derek Hale. He says he doesn’t remember arriving here but that he was headed this way with his sister,” Erica says around a yawn as she mixes something in a bowl. “Derek, this is Stiles Stilinski, owner of the ranch, and son of the local sheriff. You two play nice while I finish making breakfast,” Erica warns and heads back towards the stove where a hot skillet is slowly browning hotcakes over the flames.

The Alpha stares at Stiles for another second and then shrugs, the tension leaving his shoulders a little bit. Sighing, Stiles steps further into the kitchen. “I hope you’re feeling better. Deaton does a good job, but even he can’t save everyone,” Stiles says softly.

“I’m fine,” the Alpha mutters and his voice isn’t as deep as Stiles was expecting.

“That’s good. You’re lucky I was on that side of the ranch. If I hadn’t been, I have a feeling those hunters would have just come on the property after you anyways,” Stiles continues. Running a shaky hand through his hair, Stiles smiles a little. “Well, Derek Hale, you are welcome to stay here as long as you need to recover and figure things out.”

That seems to draw the Alpha’s contemplative look, like he wasn’t expecting this. “Why do you help me? Why do you help werewolves?” he asks, frowning heavily.

“Why not? You’re as much human as I am. Just because you go a bit furrier every now and then doesn’t mean I shouldn’t treat you inhumanly or like some sport animal to be hunted,” Stiles growls out, glaring at the Alpha.

Except the Alpha is smiling of sorts, his lips quirking up at Stiles words. “Then, thank you,” he says quietly. Stiles just shrugs and walks over to see if Erica needs any help.

“So where is the Alpha around these parts?” Derek asks casually.

Stiles turns to frown at him, “Alpha?”

“Of this pack,” Derek clarifies.

“There is no Alpha,” Stiles tells him. “Every werewolf here is an Omega who needed a safe place to live. You’re the first Alpha I’ve actually met.”

“Then how do you live together? Most Omegas are almost feral things without the guidance of an Alpha and a pack,” Derek says, looking surprised.

“Rules mostly,” Stiles admits. “No wolfing out, unless there’s danger. If they plan to stay on my ranch, then they will work and help with whatever needs helping with. And no attacking each other or anyone else which includes hunters. I don’t need the hunters to have a reason to come on my ranch because one of my own attacked them.”

“That’s…” Derek starts.

“Stupid, idiotic, a bad idea?” Stiles supplies with venom.

“Amazing. You are their Alpha,” Derek tells him.

“What?” Stiles squawks out, dropping the plate in his hand to the table with a thump but it doesn’t break.

“Not in the werewolf sense. You are their anchor, someone to guide them and someone to follow as a leader. You give them the balance and purpose to keep them from going feral,” Derek explains with an arched brow as he fully contemplates the idea of a human Alpha..

“Oh, uh…okay, if you say so,” Stiles says and glances down at the plate, pushing it into position. A flush spreads over his cheeks.

Thankfully, Lydia walks in at that moment. “I see we’ve met Derek. Good. Stiles, we’re out of some of our feed. I need you to go into town and order us some more. Also, stop at Deaton’s, we seem to have a case of ear mites going around some of the horses.”

“All right, can do,” Stiles says and nods. He frowns at Derek when he glances at the Alpha. “You might as well come with me to Deaton’s. He can check you over and you can see if he’s heard anything about your sister or other wolves who have heard about her. He’s the local werewolf gossip around these parts.”

“All right,” Derek says, his face closing off at the mention of his missing family.

~*~

Breakfast finishes quickly with the girls heading out to collect eggs and milk their cows. The guys all head out to herd the cattle to a new part of the ranch and fresher grazing grounds. Stiles and Derek saddle up and leave soon after, following the dirt path from his ranch to the small town of Beacon Hills.

The town is still waking up, though the local farmers are already setting up at the market with their produce to sell. It is quick work to stop at the feed store and order what Lydia demanded he needed to get.

“I’ll have my boys deliver it up to you later this afternoon,” old man Richard’s says with a fatherly smile at Stiles. “Tell your father I said hello.”

“I will. Thanks again.” Stiles waves and the two quickly leave the feed store to get back on their horses. It’s a bit of a ride to Deaton’s. The vet lives on the edge of the town on a small piece of land. The vet himself isn’t in his home.

A quick search finds him out in the field, checking on a horse he has been caring for, for a local farmer. “Stiles, I wasn’t expecting you for a few more days,” Deaton says as he spies the man coming up on horseback. He spies Derek behind him, “And who is this?” he asks.

“This here is Derek Hale, my current guest and visiting Alpha, the one you treated. He was actually here on his way with his sister but they got separated. Have you heard anything of a female Alpha werewolf in the area?” Stiles asks as he pats the horse’s nose, the animal butting against his chest, looking for treats.

“Nothing recently but I can ask around my contacts. See if anyone has seen her. Is there anyone else you were traveling with, Mr. Hale?” Deaton asks, looking at the Alpha.

“My family was moving out this way to get away from hunters. They left earlier but were traveling slower. My sister and I were to scout the area first before they arrived since we could get here faster. We were ambushed on the road and split up. If you hear of a new family arriving, please tell me,” Derek says quietly, but his eyes stare down the veterinarian.

“I can do that much for someone. It is good to see you up and about, Derek. I’m glad there was no lasting damage. If I can’t send word personally, I can send it up with one of my helpers to the Sheriff. He can get it to you,” Deaton promises. “Now was this the only reason you came here?”

“Oh, well we seem to have ear mites spreading through the horses and I was hoping you might have something to stop it before it spreads too far,” Stiles admits, scratching at the back of his head with a grin.

“I happen to have something. Give me a moment to finish up with this lady and I’ll get you some,” Deaton says and they nod, turning back to the house to wait for the doctor to finish with his patient.

Deaton finishes and walks up to them with a small smile. Letting them inside his home, Deaton motions for them to sit and wait while he goes into the room further in to mix up his medicine for Stiles’ case of ear mites. Stiles is just starting to fidget when the doctor reemerges with a small vial in his hands.

“Just a dab on a cloth, wipe the ears clean first and then apply. Twice a day should clear up your mite problem. I hope this helps,” he says and hands it over. Stiles grins and nods before digging into his pocket and pulling out some money to pay the man.

“Thanks, Deaton,” Stiles says and the human and werewolf leave, mounting up on their horses. The ride is tense with silence as they plod down the dusty road. “Hey, you okay?” Stiles asks the brooding Alpha.

“Yeah, just thinking,” Derek says, staring out at the horizon.

“They’ll be fine. If we have to, we’ll go out looking for them,” Stiles says, riding next to Derek.

“Why would you do that? You hardly even know me,” Derek asks, looking at the human.

“Because it’s the right thing to do,” Stiles says simply with a small smile and knees his horse ahead as they near the town.

He’s put some distance between him and Derek when he stops, pulling up next to his dad in front of the Sheriff’s station. “Hey dad,” Stiles says, grinning at his father.

“Stiles,” the Sheriff says with a smile. “Who is this?” he asks as Derek nears.

“Oh, uh, a guest who stopped by yesterday afternoon. He’s staying at the ranch for now until he can get back on his feet,” Stiles says softly, using their code for werewolves who appeared on his ranch.

“All right, then, but you be careful,” the Sheriff says and nods at the Alpha as he passes Stiles through the small town. “You call if you need anything, you hear?” Stiles nods. “I’ll be there tonight for dinner so you tell Erica and Lydia that my vote is for their lovely stew,” his dad says with a serious face.

“Can do. I’m sure they’ll do your choice dad. Listen, got to go, see you later.” He waves at his father and spurs his horse faster to catch up with Derek.

He just pulling up next to Derek when a flash of motion catches his eye and he glances over just in time to see someone aiming a rifle at him. The shot catches him in the shoulder, knocking the breath from his lungs.

His horse rears, neighing wildly as Derek yells beside him and he hears the distant shouting of his father. All he can do though is grab the horn of his saddle with one hand and his shoulder with the other as his horse comes down and takes off, hooves thundering on the ground as she flees the danger.

~*~

It happens so quickly Derek doesn’t have time to react. Stiles is hunched over his horse and the beast fleeing away from him by the time he even registers the sound of the gun firing. The Sheriff comes up and Derek looks down at him. “Go get him, I’ll take care of the gunman,” he yells. Derek looks up to see a couple of farmers wrestling the two hunters to the ground, yanking their guns away.

Spurring his horse forward, Derek races after Stiles. The horse hasn’t gotten far, the beast having slowed down after its initial fright. It’s walking along at a slow walk. Stiles is still slumped over the saddle, but Derek can see his back rising with each breath.

Riding up beside her, Derek leans down to grab her trailing reins, pulling her to a stop. “Stiles, you alive?” Derek asks, guiding his horse to stand beside Stiles’ horse.

“Hellfire, this hurt,” Stiles grunts out, looking over at Derek. His face is pale, his pupils huge and obscuring all but a ring of his amber irises. His hand is clutching at his shoulder, blood seeping over his pale fingers.

“Hang on, this is going to hurt,” Derek says. Tugging off his loaned belt, Derek makes a hasty tourniquet, pressing down on the bullet wound and slowing the bleeding. Stiles gives a small hiss of pain and then slumps forward, out for the count.

Derek tugs on the horse’s reins, leading her at a slow trot back into town where the local doctor it sure to be waiting. The Sheriff is waiting in front of the Sheriff’s station, worried eyes searching for them.

He runs forward as Derek slows to a stop. “The bullet went clean through,” Derek says as they help Stiles down from his horse. An older man is standing in front of a small building next to the Sheriff’s station motioning for them to bring Stiles towards him.

They carry him inside to lay him on a table covered in a clean cloth. “Get the shirt off, but keep pressure on the wound. That was smart thinking with the belt. Most of my patients die of blood loss more than anything else. But he’ll be fine. Hand me the bottle of alcohol over there,” he says and the Sheriff grabs it and hands it over.

They work silently except for the doctor giving orders to hold him down, hand him this or that. Stiles is unconscious through most of it, only coming to when the doctor cleans out the wound with the alcohol and hissing at the burning pain before falling back to the table, out again.

It only takes about thirty minutes all told to get Stiles bullet wound clean, sewn and bandaged up and yet it seems to drag. He’s able to be moved, so they help Derek get him loaded up on his horse. Derek swings up behind him, using one arm around his waist to hold the human close while his other arm holds the reins.

The Sheriff stands next to them as he settles and then nods. “Get him home. I’ll come by later to check on him. Right now, I’ve a couple of men to beat the living hell out of for answers,” the Sheriff says with a hard look in his eyes.

“They were after me,” Derek says softly, looking at the law man with serious eyes.

“Possibly, but Stiles has made a lot of enemies with the hunters he keeps off his property. They could just as well have been after him. I’ll let you know if I find anything out. Now get going. Tell the others to be wary of leaving the property. I’m not sure if there are any others out there.” Derek nods and knees the horse into motion.

It’s a slow ride back to the ranch. It’s hard to hold the limp human up and guide the horse, though he doesn’t need to guide much. The horse knows where home and food is. Still, it takes nearly twice as long to get back as it took to leave.

He’s not surprised to see one of the Omegas waiting by the fence watching their approach. “What happened?” Boyd asks. He’s a tall, dark skinned man, head shaves and dark eyes serious as he takes in Stiles’ condition.

“Ambush, hunters,” Derek says as he pulls up to a stop. Boyd unties Stiles horse from the lead tied to Derek’s saddle. Mounting, he follows Derek to the house. Others are waiting for them and Derek lets one of the Omegas take Stiles from him to be carried inside.

A brunette woman he doesn’t recognize from this morning stands off to the side. She smells of silver, wolfsbane, gunpowder, and screams hunter. “I’ve come to tell them what happened and to say that these men are not my father’s hunters. They’re from out of town. He’s looking into who they are and who they were after. This will not happen again,” she says. Turning from Derek she smiles at Scott and then walks back around the house. A few seconds later, she rides back on a dark horse and leaves the ranch.

The others spend the rest of the day working and sticking close to the house. The horses and cattle have been brought into their stables and corrals near the house. Derek spends most of this watching them work as he keeps an ear on the sleeping human in the next room.

The Sheriff arrives as the sun is just starting to sink below the horizon, streaking the sky with blazing color. His face is grim as he stands in the main door, hat in hand. “What is it Sheriff?” Lydia finally asks, fed up with his silence.

“The two hunters escaped from their cells this evening. They picked the lock. One of my deputies is dead, neck broken. I have a feeling that they’ll be back and possibly with more hunters,” he says evenly. The humans and Omegas stir restlessly at his words. “I was able to get something from them before though. They are after all of you and plan to go against you. How soon, I don’t know.”


	3. Chapter 3

Part 3

Stiles comes to in his room with flickering candle light casting swaying shadows on the ceiling above. He lays there trying to remember what happened. It starts to trickle in, the ride to Deaton’s and back, stopping to talk with his father, seeing someone with a shotgun.

Stiles jerks up from the bed as the last memory comes into being in his mind and groans as his shoulder screams in pain. Panting, Stiles glances down at his shoulder, the bandage around it white with a small spot of red where blood has soaked through during his sleep.

“Whoa there, son, take it easy,” his dad says, grabbing his good shoulder and pressing him back into the bed.

“Dad?” Stiles asks, looking at the pinched look on his father’s face.

“Yeah, it’s me. I told the others to go to bed and I’d watch over you,” he says with a small smile.

“What happened?” Stiles asks and his dad knows what he’s asking. What happened after he got shot?

“After your horse bolted, I sent the werewolf after you and went after the two hunters. A couple of farm hands had gotten to them before me and it wasn’t much work to get them to the cells,” his dad says.

“And?” Stiles asks impatiently, waiting for his dad to continue.

His dad sighs tiredly and Stiles knows it’s not good. “They escaped from the cell and killed Williams who was on duty at the time,” he informs Stiles.

“Oh, I’m sorry dad, I know you were friends,” Stiles says softly and grabs his dad’s hand.

“I’ve already talked with his wife. The funeral’s tomorrow, so if you’re up to it, I can bring you,” the Sheriff says.

“I’d like that,” Stiles admits. Henry Williams had been a good man, loyal to his father to a fault and kind to everyone. He didn’t deserve to die. “We’ll see how I’m feeling in the morning,” Stiles says and squeezes his dad’s hand. “You should get some sleep.”

“I will in a minute. There’s something else you should know,” his father tells him and the serious expression on his face has Stiles frowning. I was able to get some information from them before they escaped. They were after you Stiles and they had planned on going after the others as well. Now that they’ve escaped, I have a feeling they’ll be back and with more people.”

Stiles sort of deflates at his words, the information weighing heavy on him. He’s been expecting this for a while now, but he’d hoped it would be for a while. “Thanks,” Stiles says and smiles up at his father. We’ll just have to prepare for the worst.”

“I’m sorry to burden you with this son,” his father says. “Now go to sleep and don’t stay up the rest of the night planning. You’ve more than enough time to do that tomorrow.” Stiles grins and nods and bids his father goodnight as he heads for his room.

Stiles does plan to stay up planning, but he’s exhausted, body drained from the shock of getting shot, losing so much blood, and, healing that he can’t keep his eyes open for very long. With a long suffering sigh, Stiles lets sleep steal over him with a promise to start planning in the morning.

~*~

He doesn’t get to start planning the next morning. He’s roused from sleep by the sound of his door opening and closing with a click. He’s in that place between sleep and waking, head fuzzy and sweat beading on his brow.

He feels too hot, like that one summer when it was so hot that people were passing out from heat stroke and they lost so many horses and cattle when the river started to run low and dry up. The ranch hadn’t been the only one doing bad that summer, crops dying from the heat. A few people had even lost loved ones from heat exhaustion and heat stroke.

He knows he needs to get up, needs to start planning for the inevitable confrontation between them and the hunters. But he’s so tired and he feels weighted down and yet like any second now, he’ll float off the bed and into the sky.

“This isn’t good, we should send for the doctor,” someone whispers nearby but he can’t remember their name.

“Doc said this might happen. He said it is a good sign. That his body is fighting off infection. He said if it goes on for longer than a day, to bring him in. He’ll be fine,” a second voice whispers back and he feels cool fingers brush over his forehead and it reminds him so much of his mother that he wants to weep from the aching longing to have her back in his life.

He doesn’t get the chance to linger on these thoughts as sleep pulls him back under and Stiles goes with it. The fingers are replaced by cool lips right before he slips under and he sighs softly, feeling the comfort that was intended to be conveyed.

~*~

Stiles wakes the next morning feeling refreshed if still hurting from the damn hole in his shoulder where he was shot by a hunter. His head is still cottony but not as bad as yesterday. He glances down to see a clean bandage on his shoulder, not blood stain on it and he wonders who changed his bandage without waking him.

Grunting in pain as he sits up, Stiles slides out from under the covers and sits on the edge of the bed. Someone has draped a robe on the chair near his bed for him. Pushing himself up with his good arm, Stiles takes a step and wobbles. He feels like a fresh spring foal, nothing but uncoordinated feet and no control over his joints.

It takes a few tries before he can get his legs to work and get himself over to the chair. Pulling on the robe slowly, he knots the sash and shuffles out of the room, using the wall as support whenever the world tilts on him.

The sun is already well passed up by now and the house is mostly empty, the others out working on the ranch, keeping it running even with the threat of hunters soon to be on their doorstep. The only people in the house are Lydia and Derek, the two seated at the table talking softly to each other as they work.

Derek has a chunk of kindling in one hand and is using a claw to carve the wood up. At the moment, it’s just a formless lump but he can see it is already starting to take on some form. Lydia is working at mending one of the many rips in a shirt that they tend to get on the ranch.

They both look up as he appears in the doorway, even though he’s sure Derek already heard him coming the moment he woke up. “Good, you’re up. Coffee?” Lydia asks, setting her sewing aside to stand up.

“Yes, please,” Stiles croaks out and shuffles further into the room to collapse into a chair, holding his arm close to his torso to keep from jarring it as he sits.

It doesn’t take long for Lydia to make a pot of coffee, though nothing fancy like the rich people drink. This stuff is crude and black and can strip the hair off a piece of leather but it does the job and wakes him up like nothing else can.

Sighing as the warm beverage wakes him up finally, he nods in thanks as Lydia sets some reheated biscuits and some cooked ham in front of him. He tears into it, ravenous after so long without eating anything. He eats a second helping and has another cup of coffee before he feels full enough to stop.

The cottony feeling is gone and the world has stop spinning and tilting. His shoulder still hurts like hell though. “So we’re going to need to start preparing,” Stiles says, now only sipping at his coffee, though it’s started to cool slightly.

“What do you think we’ve been doing,” Lydia snaps at him. “While you were out from fever, we’ve been stockpiling provisions and weapons. Your father has been very helpful when it comes to the weapons. He’s told his men that those two hunters were bandits and that they’ll be coming back with more bandits. He’s going to keep an eye on the town, just in case they decided to attack there too. But it seems we’re on our own here,” Lydia says as she sews small deft stitches.

“We don’t even know how to fight, not like the hunters. If it comes to fists, or even weapons, I’m not sure who will win. Can any of them shoot well?” Stiles asks, rubbing at his aching shoulder gently, trying to ease the throbbing there.

“The Sheriff has started to teach them, as has Allison. As for close quarters fighting, Derek here has offered to teach them as much as he can in the short time we’ll likely have before they return,” Lydia informs him with a small smile.

“You’ve done all this in one day while I was out of it?” Stiles asks in amazement. “Remind me to never get on your bad side.” Lydia just smiles and continues sewing.

~*~

Derek hears the moment Stiles wakes up, his soft lolling heartbeat of sleep spiking as he comes awake. He can hear him getting up and putting the robe on and his uncoordinated steps as he shuffles down the hall to the kitchen that he and the human woman are sitting in.

He’s not used to this, to being so in tune to one person. With his family, it was all unconscious to listen for their heartbeats. Stiles is a stranger, someone he knows very little about who saved his life just because it was the right thing to do.

He’s not sure what exactly to say in this situation, what to do. So he remains silent, listening to the two humans talk, watching as Stiles eats and his questions about planning. And the whole while, the wood slowly takes shape, the form of a howling wolf emerging under his skilled hands.

~*~

Two weeks. They get two weeks to prepare and train and hope that it will be enough for them to survive. Allison is the one who comes to tell them.

“Stiles! Stiles open up,” Allison calls, knocking loudly on the door. They’ve all only just now sat down for lunch and that Allison has come now is not good.

Stiles rushes over and pushes the door open, careful of his arm that is still healing and hanging in a sling. “Allison, what is it?” he asks and can hear the others filing into the room behind him.

“My grandfather and aunt arrived today,” she says quickly.

“Okay,” Stiles replies, unsure of what she’s getting at.

“Stiles, they’re hunters and my grandfather disowned my father when he stopped hunting,” Allison spells it out for him.

“You think they might have teamed up with the other two?” Lydia asks behind him.

“I know they have. They aren’t staying with us. They say they’ve got rooms elsewhere and I saw them riding off to the forest earlier. They didn’t know I was eavesdropping. I heard them tell my father that they’ve been hunting an Alpha and he came this way,” Alison says and looks at Derek.

“They’re the ones that came after me and my sister?” Derek asks, eyes starting to glow red.

“It seems that way. I’m sorry, I didn’t know,” Allison whispers.

“All right, thank you Allison. I know this was a hard thing for you to do. You should head back before they realize that you’re not there,” Stiles says with a small smile, and puts his hand on top her shoulder and squeezes.

“All right, good luck you guys and I’m sorry things have come to this,” Allison whispers and slips away back to her waiting horse.

Sighing, Stiles straightens up. “All right, I’m going to need to set up the wards around the property. Can one of you get my horse saddled?” Stiles asks and Isaac nods, running off to do ask Stiles asked.

“Wards?” Derek asks.

“They’ll let me know if someone not welcome comes on to my land. I set them up a few years ago, but I have to go to them individually to activate them,” Stiles says as he walks to his room to pull on his boots.

“I’ll come with you,” Derek says.

“If you’re planning to, then you better get a horse. I won’t slow down for you,” Stiles tells him.

“Fine,” Derek says gruffly and follows Isaac out of the house and to the stable to get a horse saddled.

~*~

Stiles sits stiffly atop his horse, wincing as each step the horse takes jars his shoulder. They had ridden out to the main entrance and started to work their way from there. Every once in a while, Stiles stops and reaches down, brushing his fingers over a small carved symbol hidden in the fence.

They’re just reaching the tree line when Derek finally speaks up, “Will these really tell you when someone comes onto the property?”

“Yeah, Deaton taught me. And even if they know about them and destroy one of them, the others will alert me of the broken one so I’ll know no matter what. Deaton taught me everything I know about the supernatural,” Stiles tells him, looking over at where Derek is riding just behind him.

“I’m sorry, for bringing this on to your ranch,” Derek says after a long drawn out moment.

“This isn’t your fault,” Stiles tells him seriously.

“If I hadn’t come to your ranch, the Argents hunting me would have never come here,” Derek rationalizes.

“Derek, I’ve made a lot of enemies of werewolf hunters and not just those two that shot me up,” Stiles informs him. “They despise the fact that I protect ‘abominations’ as they call shifters. This was bound to happen sooner or later. Your arrival just made it sooner. So this is not your fault Derek and you can stop beating yourself up about it.”

Derek snorts softly, “My sister would like you. She doesn’t let me get away with any of this either.”

“I’d like to meet her then,” Stiles says with a grin.

~*~

They finish activating the rest of the wards in silence and head back to the house. Lydia and the others have been working, preparing for the oncoming confrontation. The furniture has been pushed to the side giving them room to move around, guns and ammunition stacked on a table.

“Any sign of them?” Lydia asks as she and Erica sharpen some knives.

Stile shakes his head, “None. It’s been quiet so far. I have a feeling that they’re waiting for night to fall,” Stiles says aloud.

“We moved the cattle and horses to the southern pasture away from the house. Hopefully they’ll be out of the crossfire,” Isaac says from his spot by Scott who is keeping an eye out through the window.

“Good. Any word from my father?” Stiles asks.

“No, but he’s probably busy keeping an eye on the town. Hopefully Allison told him about her relatives as well,” Lydia says. “I told Jackson about what’s happening. He wanted to help but I told him to stay away and help the Sheriff, the idiot,” Lydia says, her voice going soft at the end.

“Smart,” Stiles says and then proceeds to head for the pantry to start gathering things for healing. Derek follows him. “What are you doing?” he asks as Stiles starts pilling mason jars into a basket full of bandages.

“I’m at half best right now with my arm out of commission. I can shoot but you need two to reload quickly. I might as well do something useful. They’re going to be using silver and Wolfsbane bullets. I can keep you guys from dying if you get hit,” Stiles says with a bitter pull of his lips. Derek just nods his thanks and squeezes his good shoulder before walking away.

~*~

They’re sitting around, munching on bread and cheese for dinner, when Stiles jerks up from his slouched position against the wall. He frowns, hand fisted as he concentrates on something. “Stiles?” Lydia asks, starting to get up.

“They’re coming from the trees. Ten of them I think but I can’t tell for sure,” He gives a hiss and jerks back as if stung. “They found one of my wards. We need to get ready,” he tells them.

There’s a scramble of bodies and pounding of feet as everybody runs for their places. They’ve already planned for this. Everyone has their designated places around the house. Stiles and Lydia are situated in the center by the safe room to have the most cover. The werewolves are placed around in different rooms to wait by. There aren’t any lights lit, keeping them in darkness and making it look like they are asleep. The werewolves don’t need any light to see by anyway.

The tension mounts as they wait. If the hunters are good, and they should be if they’re Argents, then they’ll be taking their time, going slow to keep from making noise or startling any animals from sounding their approach.

Stiles and Lydia huddle close, shoulders brushing. They each have a loaded six shot next to them and a knife as well as their basket of medical supplies. Should any hunter get this far in, they can defend themselves or patch up anyone who gets hurt.

The porch creaks as someone walks on one of the boards. It is intense, waiting for the enemy to come to you and not being able to see anything. The sound of the front door opening sounds through the house and Stiles tenses. He hates the fact that he has to sit idly by as his home is invaded.

Soft steps move further in and then a thud echoes as the hunter is brought down quietly, no noise escaping his throat as it is slashed. The night is quiet as they wait for the reaction of the other hunters who wait outside.

Suddenly, there’s a loud crack as a gun is fired and Stiles knows their element of surprise is gone. Someone howls in pain and Stiles knows it is Scott. More guns fire and the wolves fire back. “Stay here, I need to get Scott,” Stiles whispers to Lydia. “Get everything set up.” She nods and Stiles ducks out of their hiding place, crouching low as he moves to where he knows Scott is.

Scott is clutching his leg where the bullet caught him when it went through the wall. “Come on,” Stiles hisses, the sharp smell of gun powder and Wolfsbane filling his nose. Grunting, Scott takes Stiles hand and lets the human lead him out of the room and down the hall. Guns are still going off with shouts and curses. So far no one else has howled out in pain so they’re doing well so far.

They make quick work of Scott’s leg, pressing the Wolfsbane ash into the wound after extracting the bullet. Scott yells but the wound heals and he’s able to leave and go back to keeping the hunters at bay.

Suddenly, the gun fire stops and the house echoes with silence. Isaac appears in the doorway, arm bleeding and they patch him up as well. He stiffens and looks towards the front of the house. “What is it?” Lydia asks.

“They’re talking. They came here mainly for Derek, for the Alpha. They’re saying if we hand him over, they’ll leave the rest of us alone,” he whispers.

“They’re lying. They’ll wait until we come out with him and then just shoot us all down,” Lydia hisses at the same time as Stiles says, “I’m not handing Derek over to them.”

Growling, Stiles walks from their spot and heads over to where he knows Derek to be near the front of the house by one of the big windows. “Don’t you even think about it, Derek,” Stiles hisses.

Slinking over to the window, Stiles starts to yell, “I know you are lying, Argents. Even if we hand him over, you’ll just pick us off one at a time. This is just some sick game to you people and you don’t care who you kill so long as you sate your bloodlust.”

“Fine, if you won’t come out, we’ll just kill you all in there,” a woman hisses and Stiles guesses that this is the infamous Kate Argent, Allison’s aunt and Chris’s sister.

Light flickers off the wall and then a burning torch comes crashing through the window and lands in the middle of the room. He can hear other windows breaking. Almost immediately, the rug it landed on catches fire, sending up smoke. “Stiles, we need to get out of here. They’re going to burn down the house,” Derek hisses. 

“They can’t,” Stiles tells him. “I’ve put up anti-fire charms. The house won’t catch.”

“No, but everything else will. And even if we don’t die of the flames we’ll die from the smoke,” he says and starts to drag Stiles from the room.

“Then help me put it out,” Stiles hisses back and jerks himself from Derek hold, ignoring the flare of pain in his shoulder and grabs a nearby blanket to start beating at the burning rug. Growling, Derek comes over and takes the rug itself with the flaming torch and tosses it out the window it came from, ignoring how it burns his hands and arms.

A shot rings out and Derek howls as he’s hit in the stomach. He falls with a thud. “Someone, come help me with Derek,” Stiles calls out. Boyd and Erica come running in covered in soot and smelling of smoke from where they were dealing with their own flaming torches. They grab Derek under his shoulders and drag him to Lydia so she can help him.

Suddenly, Stiles hears a howl and then another and another, except they’re outside. He can hear yelling from the hunters who are still alive. Suddenly, screams and firing guns fill the night as something attacks the hunters from behind. Just as suddenly as it started up, it goes quiet again.

Shaking a little, Stiles creeps forward towards the window. Leaning up a little, he peers outside. He can’t see much except what the still burning torch and rug reveal. A few bodies are nearby, not moving with their throats ripped open.

Stiles jerks back as red eyes flare just beyond the glow of the flames. Two more pairs flare up and a blue pair and a yellow and Stiles realizes that there’s a whole pack out there that he’s not sure is friendly or just out to kill everything here.

Stiles is just about to start creeping away to go see if Derek is okay when one of the red pair of eyes steps forward and a woman walks into the light of the fire. Stiles is struck by the resemblance she bares with Derek and he knows, just knows that this is his sister.

“Derek,” Laura Hale calls out towards the house.

Stiles jumps as a hand lands on his good shoulder and looks up to see Derek standing behind him, still looking pale and his shirt soaked in blood but alive. “It’s okay, they’re not here to hurt us,” he says and Stiles releases his death grip on the gun in his hand he only just realizes he is holding.

“Laura,” Derek calls out and the woman seems to sag at his voice.

“Come on,” Derek says and helps Stiles stand. They walk out onto the front porch that is slightly singed and pockmarked with bullet holes. There are even a few bolts from a crossbow embedded into the wood.

Laura comes forward as do the others and Stiles can see Derek in these people and it’s obvious they’re his family. “How’d you know where I was?” Derek asks, leaving Stiles on the porch to go to his family.

“The veterinarian, Deaton. He found us yesterday. Said you were here but that hunters were coming for you and this ranch. We got here as soon as we could,” Laura says, coming forward to pull her twin into a hug that he returns.

The others come forward, crowding around him, hugging and just taking in the fact that a lost pack member has been returned. Embarrassed at witnessing such an intimate thing, Stiles turns away and sees his own group huddled in the front doorway.

Stiles goes over to them, “Everyone okay?” he asks quietly, giving them each a once over.

“Yeah, we’re good,” Erica says.

“Stiles,” Derek says from behind them and he turns to see Derek and his family have come closer. “This is Stiles Stilinski. He the one who runs the ranch,” Derek says to the two who must be his parents.

“Um, hello,” Stiles says with a small wave.

“We’re glad to meet you. Thank you for saving our son,” the woman says. “I’m Talia Hale and this is my husband Henry and my brother Peter. That is Peter’s mate Julie and of course I’m sure Derek has told you about Laura.”

“It’s nice to meet you. That’s Scott, Isaac, Erica, Boyd, and Lydia. Um, if you would like, you can come in. Sorry for the mess, but, well, not really our fault,” Stiles says and starts to lead the way in. The others follow except Peter who runs off into the dark.

Stiles looks after him questioningly. “He’s going to get the others, the younger children,” Talia says. Nodding, Stiles continues into the house. It is quick work to get some candles lit. Stiles sends Erica, Isaac and Boyd out to put out any of the torches still burning and to make sure nothing else has caught. Scott, with the help of Laura, Derek, Talia and Henry, get at least the living area put back into some sort of order.

“I’ll get some tea and coffee put on,” Lydia says and disappears into the kitchen. The others settle onto couches and chairs, even dragging in some from the kitchen until everyone has a place to sit. Derek and Laura seem to be inseparable, pressed up against each other on the couch next to Talia and Henry. Talia has a hand on the back of Derek’s neck, as if reaffirming that he is indeed alive and whole.

“So you are the one we have heard rumors of with the ranch that shelters our kind,” Talia opens with.

Stiles shrugs, “I guess. There may be others out there, I’m not sure.” Stiles rubs at his shoulder which is starting to throb after so much activity. Isaac puts a gentle hand on the back of his neck and starts to leach the pain. Stiles give a grateful look to the werewolf.

“So, you are all omegas who live on the ranch?” Talia asks, looking them all over. The other wolves nod. “I’m glad you have someone looking out for you. Many omegas don’t survive out there with hunters on the prowl.

“Are Kate and Gerard…,” Stiles starts to ask.

“Dead? Yes, they are,” Talia finishes evenly, not even looking remotely effected by their deaths.

Scott whines at that and Stiles sighs, patting his friend’s hand. “We’ll tell them in the morning,” Stiles says.

“Who?” Laura asks.

“Christopher and Allison Argent. They live here and we have a truce with them. Allison is the one who warned us that Kate and Gerard were here. They don’t actively hunt,” Stiles tells them. Just then, Lydia comes out with a tray laden with tea and coffee.

The rest of the night is spent talking and exchanging information and such. Not too long after Lydia brings out the beverages, Peter arrives with the rest of the Hale pack in tow. One look at the three tired faces of the younger pack members has Stiles offering them a place to sleep for the rest of the night.

There aren’t enough pillows to go around, but there are plenty of blankets if a few share. They quickly split up; with Stiles’ sort-of pack bunking together to give the others rooms to sleep in. Peter and his mate and two children take a room as do Talia, Henry, Derek, Laura, and their younger sister Cora.

By the time everyone is situated, he’s exhausted, the last of the adrenalin is leaving his system. He blows out candles as he goes, walking through a darkened house by memory alone. Lydia and Scott are already zonked out on his bed, leaving a small space between them. Changing, Stiles slips into a sleep shirt and crawls awkwardly up the bed.

Slipping under the blankets, he snuggles up into the two warm bodies. Scott lays a hand on his shoulder, taking his pain from his hurting shoulder. Stiles squeezes his arm in thanks and let’s sleep take over him.


	4. Chapter 4

Part 4

Stiles wakes up to Scott already gone and Lydia curled around him, her red hair in his mouth. He hears a growl and looks up to see Jackson standing in the doorway, looking on angrily. “Oh hush. We all shared a bed last night,” Stiles tells the man.

“Jackson, go away, I’m sleeping,” Lydia hisses, pressing closer to Stiles side. Huffing, Jackson leaves the room, shutting the door with a snap.

“He’s probably going to kill me now,” Stiles says with a sigh and starts to disentangle himself from Lydia.

“He won’t and he’ll just have to deal,” she says and stretches with a yawn. Giving him a light kiss on the cheek, she slips from the bed and pulling on what she wore yesterday, and slips out of the room.

Stiles lays there for a few more minutes, soaking up the warmth of the bed. There’s a knock at the door. “You alive in there son?” his dad asks, pushing open the door.

“Yeah,” Stiles says and sits up. “I’ll be out in a moment.”

His dad comes to sit on the side of the bed and pulls him into a hug. “I’m glad you’re okay,” he says softly.

“Glad you are too. Any trouble in the town?” he asks.

“None, they just came straight here,” he tells Stiles. “I brought some people to remove the bodies from here. I’ll let Chris and Allison decide what they want to do with Kate and Gerard, but the others are going in church cemetery.”

“That’s good,” Stiles says. His dad gives him a pat on the back and then leaves to let Stiles change in peace.

Stiles does so slowly, his hurting shoulder limiting his movement. Finally though, he’s dressed and he walks out barefoot into the house to survey the damage. His room survived mostly unscratched which is a small mercy. The windows in the other bedrooms are shattered though and there is some smoke and fire damage from the torches that were thrown.

The main room is the worst with a huge burn spot where the rug had stood and smoke damage all over the ceiling. He’s lucky they moved the furniture to the side otherwise something would have caught. As it is, there are bullet holes throughout his home and his front porch looks like a war zone.

Stiles is sitting on the porch steps when Derek comes up to sit beside him. “I can help fix it,” Derek offers to him as they look over the damage from their vantage point. In the distance, Stiles can see Isaac, Boyd and Scott on horses, bringing in the animals from their temporary home in the south part of the ranch.

“It’s all right. I’ve got plenty of help to fix up any damage. You should concentrate on your family and where you plan to go now that you’re all together again,” Stiles says.

“My mother is talking with Chris Argent right now about us living here in Beacon Hills. Peter is telegraphing to our bank about purchasing some land out here, preferably closer to the forest. Hopefully with the hunters who have been after us for so long dead, we can live without fear,” Derek says, not looking at Stiles. He’s working on that lump of kindling again, still carving it. Stiles can see it’s gotten more definition, and can make out the form of a howling wolf.

“That’s good. Maybe with you and your family here, the hunters will stay away. There are a lot of werewolves in this area. They might not want to take on this many,” Stiles says. Stiles slowly pushes himself up. “You and your family can stay here as long as you need to, to get your new home built. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I need to go talk with the others about something,” Stiles says and walks back inside to get his boots on.

~*~

Two days later, it becomes official that the Hales will now be living in Beacon Hills, the land bought by them. They soon get to work building and Stiles only sees them in the mornings and evenings when they stop working on the building of their home.

It takes two months to build the place with Stiles supplying wood for them. They pay him of course, even when he insists otherwise. But it is soon done and though it is bare and there are only the rudimentary furnishings inside, they leave Stiles ranch to give everyone back their rooms.

The house feels empty after that. Even though he sees the Hales often, and there is usually at least one of them over a day, he can’t help but feel like something is missing. He shrugs it off though and goes about working as usual.

~*~

His arm heals up just fine, though it can still be a little tender. With both arms back, he throws himself back into running the ranch. There’s a big horse fair in a couple of weeks and he needs to be ready to move his livestock out within the next few days to get there in time.

He gets ready with just enough time to spare and soon sets off with Isaac and Scott in tow, leading their lines of horses behind them. He waves to his father on the way out of town and to Laura who happens to be in town at the same time. He’ll be back in about a three weeks. Hopefully nothing will go wrong in his absences.

~*~

“So I just saw Stiles leaving town with a bunch of horses,” Laura says walking in to their home. Derek, Peter and Henry are busy building furniture and look up at Laura’s words.

“What?” Derek asks, looking confused.

“Oh, Lydia told me about it. There’s a big horse fair that Stiles goes to twice a year to sell horses at. She said he’d be back in about three weeks,” Cora pipes up from where she’s sewing something.

“Oh,” Derek says and goes back to carving the leg of a table that he’s working on.

~*~

Two weeks in, Laura finds him on their back porch, looking out into the trees. “You miss him,” Laura says, not even asking a question.

“No,” Derek mutters.

“You do. Every time you think no one is looking, you look in the direction of his ranch. So, you miss him,” Laura says smugly.

“So, that doesn’t mean anything,” Derek insists.

“You forget I know you Derek. Back home, you never once looked at anyone. You’ve always stayed close to home. He’s the first person you have willingly sought out just to talk to instead of the other way around. He matters to you,” Laura says quietly.

“He saved my life,” is all Derek says.

“You know no one will care if you chose him as a mate. In fact, it would be a good thing. His pack would finally get an Alpha to bring them together,” Laura says, leaning against him.

“He doesn’t think of me that way,” Derek says softly.

“You won’t know unless you ask,” Laura says simply. “Think on that,” Laura says and stands up and heads back inside. Derek sits out there for a while longer still staring into the trees.

~*~

Stiles groans in happiness as the ranch comes into view. They are many horses less, though he had bought a few more stallions to change up his breeding a bit. He has a pouch full of money and all he wants is to sleep in his bed.

He grins when he sees Boyd and Erica waiting for the three of them at the gate on horseback. “How have things been since we’ve been gone?” Stiles asks as they get closer, the two werewolves falling in beside them.

“Good. No new hunters or wolves. It’s been pretty quiet. Also, there are a few new calves in the herd,” Erica says. “You three go on ahead. We’ll take care of these guys,” she says, she and Boyd taking the lead reins of the three new additions.

“You are an angel,” Stiles says and dismounts in front of the house. They take their mounts as well and head for the stables.

Lydia is waiting inside. “Good timing. They heard you coming from a few miles out so I was able to get some baths filled for you three. Go soak for a while. Dinner won’t be ready for a few hours,” Lydia says with a smirk.

Groaning Stiles heads down the hall to his room where a metal tub is waiting for him full of steaming water. It’s more just a giant bucket but, it’s full of hot water and the moment he slides into the water, he’s happy.

He scrubs the dirt from so many days on the road off. His legs and ass ache from riding so far in the saddle. The water is just starting to get cold when he pulls himself out. He towels himself off and slips into clean clothing.

He’s just turning to chuck his dirty clothes into his woven basket when something catches his interest out of the corner of his eye. Stepping closer, he finally realizes what’s wrong with his table. A small wooden wolf sits on top of the book he had been reading before he left. Its head is thrown back as it howls up to the sky.

Frowning softly, he picks it up, running soft fingers over the details carved into its fur, each hunk of hair distinct. He vaguely remembers this from somewhere but where, he can’t place. The more he tries, the more the memory slips away so he shrugs it off and places it back on his bedside table to look over later.

~*~

It’s late when it finally comes to him. He can’t sleep despite his long journey and early rise this morning. He’s sitting on the back porch, staring up at the waxing moon, fingering the little wooden wolf. He hits him then where he’s seen this little wolf before.

It’s hadn’t looked this way when he’s first seen it, just a vague lump of wood in the carver’s hands. In Derek’s hands. What does this mean? Is he trying to say something? Is it a gift for saving him from hunters? Something a friend would give? Or is it implying something more? The questions swirl around in his head and he can’t seem to find a solid answer.

He jerks his head up when a twig snaps nearby, clutching the wolf tight to his stomach and searching wildly for what caused the noise. “I thought you might be out here,” a voice says softly and red eyes light up in the darkness.

Derek steps closer and Stiles can finally make out the outline of his silhouette against the sky, the only color his red eyes surrounded by darkness. “I couldn’t sleep, despite my long day,” Stiles admits.

Derek huffs a soft laugh and settles on the step beside Stiles. They sit in silence for a few minutes, just soaking in the sounds of the night. Finally, Stiles has to say something or else he’ll explode. “I found this today. I’m still not sure what exactly it means,” Stiles says softly, not looking at the werewolf beside him.

“It can mean whatever you want it to mean,” Derek answers with a shrug, his clothing rustling from the movement.

“What do you want it to mean?” Stiles asks after a drawn out moment, finally looking at Derek, even if he can’t see his face clearly.

Derek reaches out and places his hand on top of Stiles’ that have been toying with the wolf, stilling them. “Whatever you want it to mean,” Derek says again, more force behind his words and Stiles gets it finally. Derek is opening the door for him, but it’s up to him whether he goes through, stands there in the doorway, or closes it again.

“Should I be braced for you to show up with flowers and your heart on your sleeve as you try to woo me?” Stiles asks cheekily grinning up at the Alpha.

“Do you want that?” Derek asks, shifting closer so that their shoulders bump.

“Oh, god no. Please, no tormenting the soft human. I wouldn’t be adverse to a ride or a walk through the trees,” Stiles offers, pressing sneakily back against Derek.

“I wouldn’t be adverse to it either,” Derek says. They don’t say anything else for the rest of the night, just sitting close, enjoying the night and each other’s company. Over head the moon continues to rise and the night wears on. In the distance, a howl goes up, echoing the silent one from Stiles’ little wooden wolf still clutched in his hands.

**End.**


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